Sellswords
by The Unpredictable Muse
Summary: Everyone has a background and capability of doing good and evil. Questionable characters Raksada, Jo'Rak, Hee-zaw, Riselda Devinus, and Vae Devinus are about to discover the lengths they'll go to get what they want from life and land. * Takes place 3 years before Doors of Destiny*


*3 YEARS BEFORE OBLIVION CRISIS*

" If you didn't get caught trying to kill our last two targets, we wouldn't be here, so stop complaining," Raksada snapped at his comrade Jo'Rak. Hee-Zaw scratched her scaly legs and frowned. " It's the water, Hee. I told you that before," He ran a clawed hand through his hair and scratched in irritation.

A breeze moved leaves and caused the group to glance around their temporary base of operation. Their tents bowed with the breeze. Rain would be on the way by the indication of the clouds and strengthening winds.

Jo'Rak, the younger of the Khajiit by five years, tried to tame the dark orange color of his fur by wearing fur armor that blended in better with the usually wooded setting. Even though he could travel or live in the mountains, he chose not to because of the cold. It took him years to become accustomed to the temperature differences between Elsweyr and Cyrodiil. Adjusting the fur armor now, he scowled as he resisted the urge to scratch as well.

Hee-Zaw, a year old than Raksada, started tearing her pack apart in search of soap that would take away the itching. Her hand got caught in the opening, and she threw the pack across camp in frustration. Raksada retrieved the pack and dug it out two minutes later. He tossed it to her.

" We're going to try and get rid of this itch," Raksada said to Jo'Rak as he shifted his arm back and forth in a suspicious scratching manner.

" Not going to work," Hee-zaw said as she began to strip. " The fur will only rub against your fur. If you were heavier armor, you might have a chance but you don't," She snagged the bucket on the camp's edge and dipped it in the river water. Dipping the soap into the water, she started to vigorously scrub her scales down.

Watching them from the shadows, a young imperial woman didn't make a sound. Perched in a tree, the woman blended in perfectly. After adding leaves to her leather armor, she leaned perfectly still against the tree trunk. A leather helm hid her face from view. On the right hip, a steel dagger rested. A thin leather strap slung across her shoulder and chest connecting to a small clutch of coins and the barest of necessities in a small pack easily removed and hidden nestled against her the small of her back.

She had followed them from Skingrad after escaping the clutches of the esteemed Maximus Lumuno. With no intention of going back and getting caught again, she knew she had to find a new group to target. After watching the dark orange furred khajiit fidget with his armor for over ten minutes, she planned to strike at night and steal all the gold they had.

The other khajiit, a mixed gray and white with a striking spotted tail, started trimming some of his longer hair in an effort to combat the itch.

They thought it was the water. She knew it was because they all went through a patch of poisonous plants that cause severe itching and would be hard to get rid of. Seating herself in the thick brush, she waited the day out.

Hours after Hee-zaw and Raksada scrubbed down their bodies in an effort to get rid of the itch, they settled down for dinner. Jo'Rak gave up on trying to keep from itching. He now openly scratched head to toe.

" Are you sure it's the water?" Hee-zaw challenged Raksada. Her scale still itched.

Raksada finished off his horse meat stew and stashed the cleaned bowl in his pack. " Yes, not get some sleep. We have to figure out how to make more gold before we end up in the Arena in the Imperial City," He crawled into his tent and closed his eyes.

Hee-zaw huffed and followed his example several minutes later.

Jo'Rak stayed up another hour as he studied the inside of his armor and plucked out a stray leaf. Tossing it aside, he eyed the water and then his tent. Without anything better to do, he grabbed the soap stripped down. Going into the water, he didn't hold back from scrubbing down and discovering scratches that went deeper than skin.

While he did this, their stalker snuck into camp and went to Hee-zaw first. After successfully lifting the coin pouch off the argonian's body and discovering it filled with rocks instead, she put it back and crept on to the next tent. At that same moment, Jo'Rak tripped up on a branch and woke up Raksada.

Dropping into a crouch and remaining still, Riselda's heart pounded.

Raksada sat upright and looked around. Jo'Rak entered the camp again and started scrubbing his armor and setting it next to the fire to dry out. Laying back down, Raksada thought he heard someone.

Feeling like the land's eyes were on her, Riselda snuck away from the site and took her place in the tree again.

Come morning, Raksada woke to Hee-zaw grumbling. " Someone was in our camp last night," She held up her coin pouch. " They took the bait pouch and didn't put it back right," She emptied out the rocks that showed signs of a very devoted person trying to smooth the rocks down into coin shapes.

Ro'Jak donned his armor again. " I didn't notice anyone," He denied the accusation.

" That's because you don't notice much unless you're paid to," Hee-zaw snapped before sighing. " I get the feeling like we're being followed,"

Raksada glanced around once more. " I thought I was the only one getting that feeling," He admitted darkly.

Jo'Rak tightened the armor for a close fit. " We're not being followed. If we were being followed, we would have noticed by now," Flexing his thick arms, he pulled out his iron sword and took a whet stone to it.

Raksada and Hee-zaw traded unhappy looks.

Watching ever so vigilantly, Riselda smirked. She heard of counter measures to throw off thieves, but a bait coin pouch never surfaced in rumors. Well played, she thought as she plotted a better way get to their gold.

An hour away from the camp site, a nord walked the road on a mission. He needed to deliver a very special book to the Mage's guild in Bruma. Crossing paths with an imperial soldier patrolling that area, he stopped. " You look like you've seen better days, Hicks," Lasska greeted the familiar soldier.

Hicks stopped the horse and dismounted. " We've all seen better days. Between necromancers, the Mythic Dawn, and a rise in Dark Brotherhood activity, everyone is running ragged," He showed his hand to the Fighter's Guild guildmaster. " A female assassin got me before I could apprehend her. She ended up escaping,"

Lasska winced at the wicked curve of the scar curling from his pinky to his thumb. " You have feeling in that hand?"

" Barely. The mages tell me that I'll eventually get feeling back in after a few more magic treatments," Hicks flexed his hand and shrugged. " Never thought I would need a mage's help. They are doing really well with the treatments though,"

Adjusting his pack, Lasska nodded. " I'm heading to Bruma. I hope to run into an old companion and catch up. It's been a long time since we went our separate ways. He believed in the law, so it'll be a surprise to see if he really did accomplish his goals,"

Hicks rubbed his horse's neck and touched it's braided mane. " What I would give to be young again. Seems like a lifetime ago," He shook his head. " Good luck with traveling. Remember to watch out for bears and wolves," Mounting his steed, he said goodbye and continued on his patrol.

Continuing on his way, Lasska stopped when he thought he smelled rot. Following the smell, he stumbled upon a body of a bosmer. The bosmer sported several stab wounds centered in the chest and neck. Stripped of everything but his bloodstained clothes, the dead bosmer presented a mystery to Lasska.

Turning the bosmer's head, he picked up a necklace with a plain silver medallion. On the back of it were initials R.D. He rubbed the dried blood off. Pocketing the necklace, he stood and said a prayer for the body. His long walk to Bruma gave him time to think back on the mystery.

No one with the initials R.D. ever crossed his path.

Nor did anyone ever talk about a plain necklace like the one he now carried.

Like a dagger in his side, the mystery stuck and gave him something to ponder other than what he was going to do if he ever met up with his old companion.

**Apologies on making everyone wait so long. I had to get my thoughts together, and I didn't want to disappoint. I know that my writing skills could use improvement, but I am doing my best. This is an offshoot using knowledge from CoA and DoD. I am using the same character to better expand their backgrounds and a sense of what is going on in Cyrodiil. Thank you for reading, and as always, I love all my readers.**


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